


Snow

by Dr_Cat



Series: Like Minded [4]
Category: Knight Rider (1982)
Genre: Gen, Mountains, Snow, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23051413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Cat/pseuds/Dr_Cat
Summary: Mountains, snow, ice; sounds like a vacation to some and a nightmare to others.
Series: Like Minded [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642711
Kudos: 9





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own nor did I come up with Knight Rider or the characters mentioned in this story. They were created by Glen A. Larson and are copyrighted to NBC/Universal.

It's cold; too cold; like 60 degrees too cold. Negative two degrees Celsius is not my idea of safe operating conditions. In fact, this is the first time I have ever been in these kinds of conditions. This weather's not fit for man, beast or machine. Well, maybe I should qualify that statement. Certainly, there are some people, creatures and equipment able to acclimate to colder environments but, for heaven's sake, why did Michael have to be one of them.

We could have been enjoying a nice December afternoon cruising around the ice-free streets of Los Angeles, soaking in a sunny seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit. Instead, I'm parked outside a log cabin in central Oregon, fender deep in the slush I was promised I wouldn't have to deal with and loathing the snow clouds rolling in from the west. I did have some measures of combating the frost and freeze, particularly concerning areas where damage could be done to my systems, but it took gross amounts of power and left my reaction time sluggish; something I absolutely abhor. On top of it all, I also have an unobstructed view of the reason I'm here in the first place; Mount Hood.

Michael had come out here in pursuit of it to satisfy one of his many favorite pastimes, mountaineering. Normally, he comes out here in the spring, but it isn't all that much better then either. However, at least in the warmer months, it's more tolerable at the base of the mountain, unlike now. Still, it's rather difficult to get vacation time from Devon nowadays and the Foundation is predicting an unusually busy phase of investigations at the beginning of next year. So, being as slow as things are at present, this is the only time Michael could negotiate a week's vacation. I don't blame him for wanting time off. Lord knows, he needs it, but I do blame him for his choice of recreation.

Out of all the other hobbies he has, like scuba diving, sailing and fishing -all of which can be done in the moderate weather of Southern California I might add- he has to go with climbing a mountain. As if his life isn't in danger enough, he wants to scale the icy cliffs of more than ten thousand feet. I can only liken it to the allure of skydiving or white river rafting. I don't believe I'll ever understand human beings' desire to endanger their lives or their hurry to do so. Michael practically leaped out and ran for the trails, leaving his suitcases in my trunk instead of taking them in. Now, he's some two thousand feet up with a small expedition heading to the peak while I sit here trying to occupy myself.

I could go into standby mode until Michael returns; conserve some energy and allow time to pass quickly, except, the first signs of a light snowfall are starting to collect on my hood and, as absurd as it sounds, something about being buried in the snow unsettles me. After all, I've heard so many stories of vehicles losing control on slick roads and being plunged into snowbanks; lost for days. Then there are the avalanches of snow and rock that could swipe a tank over an embankment let alone a two-door coupe. Oh, or the blizzards that could submerge whole cities and towns or the terror known as black ice that turns semi-trucks into hurdling battering rams. I believe I speak for all cars when I say we dread the snow and the ice and the loss of traction and the crashing . . .

I start the engine and allow the heat from the turbine to translate into my frame, melting the gathering snow until it slides off the front to join the slush pile already there. I also activate my wipers and brush the offending flakes away from my windscreen. Much better; wait, one's still stubbornly holding on. I almost re-engage the wipers until the sun peeks out from behind one of the clouds and catches the snowflake in such a way it casts its intricate shadow across my windshield. It is surprisingly . . . beautiful.

The small piece of crystallized ice melts of its own accord and is soon replaced by new ones; the sun shining through them all. I direct my sensors upward to better observe the precipitation and find myself strangely . . . captivated by it.

Obviously, I must have been listening to Michael this morning with a more open mind than I let on. He had been going on and on about how he used to enjoy the snow as a child. The sled races, ice skating, snow forts, snowball fights and steaming cups of hot chocolate; not to mention the days off school due to heavy snow. There were also the holidays, which I have to admit I enjoy as well, but then he spoke of the scenery. On this point, I indicated all the hazards snow and ice posed on the road, but he listed all the places it was treasured like on the branches of evergreens or the hills of the countryside. He went on to explain the crispness it left in the air and the crunch it made underfoot and the smile it inspired when it fell.

I must confess when we got here and I saw snow in person for the first time, I was mystified. So familiar with sunny deserts and clear coastlines, it was astonishing to see a world covered in a white blanket of ice, even though I understood the mechanics of how it happened. Now, I'm watching the process take place firsthand and it really is . . . remarkable.

As I watch it fall in the silence of the forest, on a whim, I decide to play a piano version of Vivaldi's Concerto No. 4 in F minor, Op. 8, RV 297, "L'inverno". I switch off the engine, watch and listen. The music and the scenery are leaving a silent impression as if being discovered again in different ways and forever changed in my understanding. Who knows, perhaps some two-hundred sixty-three years ago, Antonio Vivaldi witnessed the same sight I'm seeing, sparking him to compose this piece; it certainly is a heartening thought. As that song ends, I play another and more snow continues to fall. About twenty-five minutes into my impromptu winter concert, I notice movement to my right.

I scan and take note of some people coming back down the mountain path. Upon further examination, I confirm it is Michael's group returning. I wonder why? I spot him walking and, deciding that hikers and mountain climbers didn't qualify as dangerous or suspicious persons, beeped in over the comlink to find out. I watch as Michael looks up, trying to gain a visual on my location no doubt, before bringing the device to his mouth.

"Yeah, Kitt?" he says, staying back a ways from the rest of the group.

"What are you doing back so soon? I thought you said the hike would be for nearly the whole day," I say, recalling his enthusiastic explanations this morning. All that excitement seems gone now as he gives what I can only describe as a frustrated sigh.

"They're closing off the trails because of the snow coming in. Even the slopes are closed. We should have gotten here a day earlier. No climbing until at least Thursday."

"But, Michael, we leave Thursday," I state conscientiously. This meant that . . .

"I know," he says dejectedly.

"I'm sorry, Michael," I say, genuinely sadden my partner isn't going to be able to enjoy the vacation he'd planned.

"So am I," he replies, dropping his gloved hand back down to his side and continuing his trek to the lodge. He looks absolutely crestfallen; a picture of disappointment. Poor Michael; there has to be something I can do. Although controlling the weather is far out of my sphere of capabilities, researching weather forecasts in other winter fun locations isn't and maybe . . .

"Michael?" I beep in again. He brings his wrist back up.

"Yeah, Kitt?" he says a little too aggravated. I decide to ignore it for now.

"My calculations indicate if we leave now, we'll be able to reach Crater Lake National Park some two-hundred miles due south of here before the roads become too hazardous to navigate. I could go ahead and cancel your reservations here at the lodge," I say, gauging his reaction. He slows to a stop, turns back in my direction, and knits his brow up. Is he perplexed or dissatisfied with the information? I can't tell. Maybe I shouldn't have suggested it or perhaps further explanation is in order.

"I know it doesn't have any mountains, but there are moderate amounts of snow, several guided tours, hiking trails throughout the park, and no closures reported in the area. If not we could . . ."

"No, pal, it sounds like a great idea, but it's just . . ." he says as he begins walking towards me.

"It's just what, Michael?"

"Well, a few hours ago you were complaining non-stop about how you hate the snow and now you're making travel arrangements to a winter wonderland," he states with a smirk upon entering the small parking area. At least, he's smiling again.

"I'm warranted to change my position from time to time. Besides, I may hate the snow and ice but I hate seeing you in such a pitiful mood even more."

That comment earns me a snowball to my windshield, but as I activate my wipers and observe the mirth in my friend's eyes it makes the gesture the warmest thing I received all day.

_Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. Romans 12:10_


End file.
